Gary Potter sat in an uncomfortable, high-backed chair in a sterile room at the Ministry of Magic. The air felt thick with bureaucracy. Across from him sat Ms. Grimthorn, the Ministry official who was leading the interview. She was a stern-faced witch whose eyes gleamed with haughty disapproval.

She shuffled through her paperwork, her eyes staying hard and unforgiving.

"Mr. Potter, before we proceed with your application, we will need you to swear allegiance to the Book of the Law."

Gary, who was twirling his freshly recalibrated iWand like a fidget spinner, froze in disbelief. He leaned back, waving his wand dismissively.

"Swear on the Book of the Law? You’re joking, right? I’m a full-blood wizard. The Chosen One, no less. That should be more than enough to qualify me."

Ms. Grimthorn’s eyes narrowed, her tone as sharp as broken glass.

"While we acknowledge your status as the Chosen One, Mr. Potter, Ministry protocol must apply to everyone. You must swear on the Book of the Law. No exceptions."

Gary straightened up, crossing his arms.

"I refuse. Do you even know who I am? I’ve been at odds with Carol Voldemort for years, trying to stop her from taking over the world. I don’t need to swear on some dusty old book to prove my loyalty."

Ms. Grimthorn sighed, rifling through her papers.

"We’ve conducted a thorough background check on you, and, unfortunately, you are considered... a risk."

Gary raised an eyebrow.

"What? How dare you! So what? I haven’t done anything wrong!"

Ms. Grimthorn didn’t flinch.

"Well," she said, pulling out a glossy wizarding magazine, "our investigation has revealed some... worrying patterns. You’ve been spending an alarming amount of time telepathically linked with Voldemort. You’re in contact with her daily. And we have reason to believe you’ve been purchasing certain wizarding magazines."

Gary blinked, his face flushing.

"That’s absurd! I—"

Ms. Grimthorn interrupted, holding up a copy of Witch Weekly. The cover prominently featured Carol Voldemort, dressed in an outrageously short miniskirt, her wand pointed dramatically into the distance. The headline read: “Dark Diva: Voldemort’s Latest Fashion Statement!”

Gary gawked at the magazine, his mouth hanging open.

"That... that’s not mine! There’s been a mix-up."

Ms. Grimthorn arched an eyebrow, her voice cold.

"We found several copies in your possession, Mr. Potter. All neatly folded. Please don't deny it—you have quite the collection."

Gary ran a hand through his hair, feeling flustered.

"Look, this is ridiculous. I’m not obsessed with Voldemort’s skirts! I’m the Chosen One, for Merlin’s sake! I hate her!"

Ms. Grimthorn tapped the magazine with her wand, as Potter's eyes wandered to the photo of Voldemort slowly crossing her legs.

"And yet, according to our records, you’ve shown a disturbing interest in her... fashion. We even caught you wandering Voldemart in search of specific skirt designs. Behavior that, frankly, verges on psychotic. This is why the Ministry must insist you attend counseling. Your addiction could interfere with your ability to bring down the Death Eaters."

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Gary’s face glowed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"I don’t need counseling! And I’m not interested in Voldemort! I’m doing a fantastic job of keeping my eye on her for you! Ever considered that?"

Ms. Grimthorn didn’t flinch.

"Mr. Potter, whether you like it or not, you are considered a potential black magician due to your proximity to Voldemort. The frequency of your interactions raises concerns, and your refusal to swear on the Book of the Law only deepens our worries."

Gary stood, slamming his hands down on the table.

"This is outrageous! I’m trying to stop Voldemort from taking over the world, and you’re accusing me of... what? Shopping for skirts? This is absurd! What do you think I am, a Transwitch? I wear trousers!" He gestured down to his Japanese salvage denim.

Ms. Grimthorn adjusted her glasses, her tone becoming even colder if that were possible.

"While we don’t believe you’re working with Voldemort, we know that you are rather easy to... influence. According to our intelligence, you could be easily corrupted, particularly if offered large quantities of Firewhisky or... witchweed."

Gary’s face paled.

"Witchweed? I’m a non-smoker!"

Ms. Grimthorn tilted her head.

"Our intelligence suggests otherwise, Mr. Potter. What do you and Hagrid do every Sunday, hiding in that basement full of smoke?"

Gary threw his hands up in frustration.

"Look, I’m fighting Voldemort! You think I’d side with her for witchweed? Seriously?"

Ms. Grimthorn’s gaze hardened.

"As I said, your habits suggest you could be distracted. The Ministry believes that, for your safety and ours, you should swear allegiance to the Book of the Law and participate in counseling. It really is that simple, Potter."

"And what if I refuse?" Gary shot back, crossing his arms.

Ms. Grimthorn sighed softly.

"If you refuse, Mr. Potter, we’ll have no choice but to consider how else to stop you interfering with our plans. We can’t have you bothering Hermayonaise."

Gary’s eyes narrowed.

"Hermayonaise? What about her?"

Ms. Grimthorn leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

"She is critical to our efforts against the Death Eaters. Her brilliance is unmatched. But she’s often distracted—largely because of your... antics. The Ministry feels that if we keep you occupied, it would allow her to concentrate. An office job should be just the ticket."

Gary’s jaw dropped.

"An office job? Wait a minute, I thought I was going to be on the front line! You’re saying you want me out of the way?"

Ms. Grimthorn smiled faintly.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. It would be in everyone’s best interests, including yours."

Gary collapsed back into his chair, groaning.

"This is madness."

Ms. Grimthorn tapped the cover of the magazine, making Voldemort’s image vanish.

"Swear on the Book of the Law, attend counseling, and you can continue to play your part in the fight against the Death Eaters. It’s a small price to pay for someone of your importance, wouldn’t you agree?"

Gary sighed, rubbing his temples.

"This is just your way of sidelining me, isn’t it? You’d rather have me stuck in a Ministry cubicle filing reports than out there actually fighting."

Ms. Grimthorn’s expression remained unchanged, her voice icy.

"It’s for the greater good, Mr. Potter. We simply need to know you’re on the right side. With your... history and the peculiarities surrounding your relationship with Voldemort, we can’t afford to take any risks."

Gary stared at the ancient tome in front of him. It seemed to hum with magical authority, its weathered pages bound by centuries of wizarding law. He hated this. Hated being forced into a corner by the Ministry when they should be supporting him, not putting him under suspicion. But if this was the only way to get them off his back—and get back to actually doing something useful—he didn't really have much of a choice.

"Fine," Gary muttered through gritted teeth. "I’ll swear on the bloody book."

Ms. Grimthorn nodded curtly and slid the book across the table toward him. Gary placed his hand on the cover, feeling the old magic surge beneath his fingers.

"I swear on the Book of the Law," he said, his voice flat, "that I am loyal to the Ministry and wizardkind."

The book emitted a faint glow, confirming the oath. Ms. Grimthorn smiled slightly, satisfied.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," she said, pulling the book back toward her. "Now, about your counseling sessions. You’ll receive an owl with the details soon. You must take it seriously, Potter. We expect to see some kind of reduction in the amount and quality of the time you spend with Voldemort. More intelligence and less fraternizing, Mr. Potter."

Gary stood, feeling worried that his days would be spent as a prisoner at the Ministry.

"Yeah, well, tell that to Voldemort when she tries to take over the world again. Then you’ll wish I had a wand in my hand."

Ms. Grimthorn didn’t flinch.

"The Ministry is well aware of Voldemort’s ambitions. And that’s why we need people like Hermayonaise focused on her work. So, try not to distract her with pixies, exploding kitchens, invisible key hexes, or any of your other drunken escapades."

Gary opened his mouth to argue but realized it was pointless. He grabbed his iWand and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

"Fine. Whatever."

With that, Gary Potter walked out of the Ministry. The Chosen One had a real job! At least Hermayonaise would be happy she didn’t have to pay his rent this month.